Chapter XII

_Non pur la morte, ma ’l timor di quella
Da donna iniqua e bella,
Ch’ogn’or’ m’ancide, mi difende e scampa:
E se tal’or m’avvampa
Più, che ’l usato il foco in ch’io son corso,
Non trovo altro soccorso
Che l’imagin sua ferma in mezzo il core;
Che dove è morte non s’appressa amore._

_Not Death alone, but his indwelling dread
Doth succor and set free
From sway of one unjust as cherishèd,
Who constantly doth make assault on me;
As oft as flameth with unwonted force
The fire that folds me, I have no resource
Save keep his image central in the heart;
Where Death abides, Love hath not any part._